


Making it Count

by iamthemagicks



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Crossover, M/M, RMS Titanic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-19
Updated: 2012-09-18
Packaged: 2017-11-14 13:57:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/515942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamthemagicks/pseuds/iamthemagicks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel, almost 101 years old, lives in a modest size house with his granddaughter Anna, but while watching the news one day, he catches a glimpse of a charcoal drawing of himself found in a safe in the remains of the sunken cruise ship Titanic. He embarks on a journey to visit his past and the disaster that changed his life eighty-five years ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, this is a Destiel AU of the film Titanic. Some lines from the actual film do make it into the story, but it's not an exact copy.

The clay moved under Castiel's hands easy, smooth and wet, forming to his fingers just as he wanted. He was aiming for a pot, pretty typical, simple. His hands didn't work like they did in his younger years, hell, they didn't work like they did ten years ago, when he and Dean first moved into this house. A nice split level, the first level for the two of them and their aging bones, upstairs for Anna.

His left foot started to ache as he pumped for the wheel to spin. In the background, Anna was yelling to the dog. It was hers, she bought after the break-up. A yippy little thing named Fozzie that Dean would have hated, but Castiel tolerated, fed him scraps at the table when Anna wasn't looking. The TV was on too, a low rumble that he couldn't really hear. Aid needed a new battery. 

"Jeez, calm down," Anna said. "Acting like you've never eaten before." She set down the bowl. 

As the pot became more round and smooth, just as Castiel had been invisioning it, something on the news caught his attention. The man being interviewed said something about the Titanic. About an expedition and some missing jewelry. He jerked his head up. 

"Turn that up, will you?" He said.

Anna did as she was asked, but promptly left the room to continue making lunch. Castiel got up from his chair, leaning on a cane and walked closer to the small TV they kept on the counter between the kitchen and the living room. He squinted his eyes. 

The man on the screen kept talking, the newsreel that came up said the man's name was Nick. He had blonde hair and yellowish eyes. He kept talking about finding a ring, an expensive, rare ring, with a blue stone set in the center. Castiel's stomach sank as the camera panned to a drawing, a familiar, but lost drawing. And there he was...seventeen and spindly, laying on his back, naked (though his privates were blurred by the censors), his right hand resting on his chest, that damn ring visible, gaudy, even in charcoal, even for something that's been on the bottom of the ocean for damn near eighty-five years.

Anna came out with the drinks, fresh made lemonade. "What's the matter, Pops?" She placed her hand on his back, warm.

But he couldn't take his eyes off the screen, the drawing, the ring. That idiot that thought he had struck gold. "I'll be goddamned."

~

"Pops, you're being ridiculous," Anna told him, folding her arms and standing in front of him. Like he could possibly ignore her glare or her exghasberated sigh. He'd be able to sense that a mile away. And maybe she was right, Dean certainly would have told him he was being ridiculous, to just keep his mouth shut and not worry about it, that was five lifetimes ago. But much to Dean's chagrin, Cas still carried a bit of the spoiled little rich boy attitude with him, and Cas wanted what was his. 

"Don't give me that look," Cas grumbled. He adjusted himself in the recliner. Black leather, smooth to the touch, though the arms were fraying a bit, the foot rest chewed on by that damn dog. Dean had picked the chair for the lumbar support.

Cas was on hold. He'd gone through four different connections before reaching anyone on the ship and now he was waiting for the secretary or who the fuck ever to go find Nick. That's who Cas needed to talk to, who was looking for the ring, but found his drawing insteasd.

Anna gave up, throwing her hands out of their cross and went back to the kitchen, mumbling to the dog. 

Cas waited. Wind picked up on the other end of the line and muffled voices. He didn't hear as well as he used to. "How can I help you Mr. Winchester?" Nick was irritaed. Cas pictured those yellow eyes rolling, the man only vaguly listening until the crazy old man said his peace.

"Yes." Cas sat himself. "I was just wondering if you found Louis' Signet yet?"

Anna stopped her movements with chopping carrots. She waltzed into the living room. "You're kidding me!" Anna, the French history major who was a TA for a class on the reveolution at the university, knew all about the lost signet ring. "You're kidding me!" Her eyes were blue flames. 

Castiel ignored her. 

"You have my attention," Nick said. "So, do you know who the kid in the picture is?"

Castiel couldn't help but smile before he answered, he was one for theatrics, especially now in his even more golden years with the granddaughter who was made of sugar and spitfire and an empty house with a yippy dog, and all his pottery. "Of course I can tell you who it is. It's me."

~

Almost immediately, Nick said that he wanted Castiel on his ship. A small plane from New York had been charatered to Maine, and then a helicopter from Maine to the ship that hovered over the two mile grave marker of the sunken ship. Anna had been furious as she helped Castiel pack his things. Bags for clothes, a whole suitcase full of pictures. He wanted to bring the fish, three male betas in their individual circle bowls. One blue, one green, and one bright flaming red, the color of Anna's hair. But that was too much, she told him, they'd be fine, Joey next door would feed them. Fozzie came though, happily sitting on Castiel's lap on the plane.

While they waited for the helicopter, Anna sat on a bench across from him, jerking her leg. She had yelled at him while they packed, on the taxi ride. She paused during the plane ride while she looked out the window at the passing scenery. Dean was terrified of flying. Of course he was afraid of boats too, not that anyone blamed him, not that they talked about it much either. 

"I wrote my thesis on that ring," she mumbled.

"Jesus, Anna, I wasn't keeping you in the dark on purpose. I don't even have the damn thing anymore."

"Do you know what happened to it?"

He shifted himself in the chair. The dog licked at his fingers. He wished that Dean was here, he was the one that always explained, that steered the conversation the other way. Because they both still saw it, in their aging years, kids crying for their fathers, hearing gunshots. All the frozen bodies. 

"Sorry, princess," Castiel answered. 

She rolled her eyes, but got up to kiss him on his forehead. "Crazy old coot."

"Didn't your gramps teach you to respect your elders?"

"Hell no," she laughed. "That was Mom's job."

"Did a piss poor job at it." 

She hugged him with one arm. "Be nice." 

They couldn't really hear over the sound of the whomping helicopter blades, but Castiel waas perfectly content watching out the window with the dog on his lap who was shaking and whining, licking his finger tips for comfort. Dean would have been petrified out of his mind and given himself a heart attack. But Castiel liked it, the ocean, the tiny laps of white of moving waves. He let out a sigh. In rare moments, quiet and alone in bed, with the lights on dim and the sheets warm, Dean would tell Castiel his eyes were the color of the ocean. 

The helicopter descended onto a large ship, not unlike a cruiser, large equipment on the decks. Some people hovering, running out to greet them. When they landed, people tried introducing themselves, Nick from the television, his collegue, Meg. A stick thin woman with dark hair pulled back, a red mouth with an incredulious smirk. Castiel liked her, Dean would have smirked back and winked, hitting on anyone who gave him the smokey eye.

"Thank you for coming out here, Mr. Winchester," Nick yelled over the sound of the blades. Castiel shook his hand and he was taken out of the chopper in the wheel chair (his knees didn't work as they should these days, his hands sometimes cramping dreadfully with arthritis). Briskly he was whisked away to a stateroom, Anna pushing the chair and following directions. He wanted to stay on deck and watch the waves. 

Fozzie ran around the room with one of his toys that squeaked. Anna unpacked her clothes into the dresser on her side of the room, a small dresser. Castiel started on the picture. With Dean gone, he needed them. The map of his life, of the things they promsied they would always do. Of his children, three boys, with wide, toothy grins, messed up hair and smudged faces. 

There was knocking at the door, clinking on metal. At first, Castiel thought he was imagining it. It's happened before. In the dead of night, he heard things. Anna promised it was the house settling, but Castiel heard rushing water, he heard Dean and his music in the den. Clanking and an eerie creaking of separating metal. Occasionally the scraping of pen and pencil on paper.

But Anna was turning and smiling, stuffing her hands in the back of her pants. 

"How's your room?" Nick asked. His eyes seemed yellow.

"Fine," Castiel answered. Anna smiles shyly. "You met Anna right? My granddaughter, thinks she has to watch after me."

Anna laughed. "We met on deck, remember Pops?"

"Oh yes." The mind was going a bit too. Had troubles remember new information. What happened yesterday, last week. Where he put the remote or his slippers.

Nick smiled polietly, Meg rolled her eyes behind him before putting on a perky and pleasent smile. "Is there anything we can get you? Anything you'd like?" He spoke like a pastor.

Castiel stopped arranging his pictures and put his hands in his lap. "I'd like to see my drawing, please."

Still in the chair because Castiel is having a patricular bad time with his knees since bording the ship, he's ushered to some sort of lab. Computer monitors every where. People in windbreakers and jeans, going over pieces of debris. He had seen specials of course, watched every thing the History and Discovery Channels had to throw at the world about the sinking. Dean didn't speak for days after that doctor had found the wreckage. He just sat at his drafting table and drew until his fingers bled. 

"We found these things," Nick said, gesturing to a table with a white sheet and an assortment of artifacts. "From your room on the ship."

Castiel's head spun as he looked and rememebred the lost items. A pair of bluecufflinks, the gold on them faded, but the stones as dark as the part of the sea that they sank to, a boar bristle brush with a silver handle. He ran his old fingers across the sculted metal remembering how it felt heavy in his hand the last time he used it. He could hear the waves lapping outside, smell ice chilled hair. A razor and his shaving kit, missing the brush for cream. 

"This is just...extraordinary," he said, touching the blade, checking for sharpness. "Like it's just been in storage."

Castiel glances around the lab. His picture is in a tray of some kind of water, on display via monitor, zoomed on his chest where his hand rested, with the ring. And a black and white photo of the ring from over a hundred years ago, set next to it. They were comparing, to see if that was Castiel, if that was the ring.

Nick cleared his throat. "They said that blue diamond of the crown was split in two. One piece went missing, the other was fastened into a ring that the true heir of the crown was meant to have. But it's been missing."

Meg hopped up on a cleared piece of table, kicking her feet. "If we found that, it'd be worth more than the Hope Diamond." She chewed gum and pink as her tongue.

"It was heavy," Castiel clarified. "And ugly. Far too gaudy for my tastes. I only wore it the one time." 

He stared at the picture again, at hsi body, young, all elbows and knees. A mop of jet black hair, his eyes wide at set.

"You really think this is you, Pops?" Anna looked over his shoulder, her hand resting warm on him. 

Castiel scoffed. "Of course it's me. You can see why your gramps couldn't keep his hands off me." 

Some of the researches chuckled, uneasily. Nick went on like Castiel hadn't made the comment, just an old man making a joke when he could. Or maybe he meant 'gram' because surely a man with a granddaughter had a wife. Nick pulled up a chair. "I tracked insurance records, bank statements. And the ring was bought under absolute secretcy." He smiled excitedly. "Do you know who the claim was for?"

After all this time, Castiel could still see his face, just as clear as he could see Dean's, as vivid as the sensation of Atlantic ice on his ankles. "McLeod." The name even left a bad taste on his tongue, like he'd eaten that funky cheese Dean used to keep in the icebox. 

Nick's devilish grin grew wider, like the Chesired cat, matching yellow eyes and pointed teeth. 

"Edward McLeod, old fashioned steel tycoon. The ring was for his son Crowley. Some say for his   
wife, Bela-"

Castiel laughed. "Oh son, that wasn't for her. It was for me."

"Excuse me?" Nick creaked in the chair, finally taking him seriously.

He glanced around the room. Anna shrugged because it wasn't a secret to her, to any of their family, not even to her dear Great Uncle Sam. "Well he certainly couldn't marry me back then." He leaned back into the chair. "I was his goddamn concubine. It was a bit humliating actually."

Some of the guys grinned, a few of the women blushed red like tomatoes. Anna just put her hand on his shoulder. 

"So you were a queer?" Meg brazenly asked. Dean would like the balls on this one. The nerve.

Castiel chuckled. "Still am, sweetheart." Anna rubbed his back. Meg grinned. 

Nick went on. "See the date on the picture?"

Anna leaned over Castiel to get a closer look at Dean's serial killer hand writing etched on the corner of the page. "April 14, 1912."

"Which means if your grandfather is who he says he is, he was wearing that the night the Titanic sank. And that, Mr. Winchester, makes you my new best friend."


	2. Chapter 2

On the deck, Castiel stood from his wheelchair, every bone in his god forsaken back and knees cracking like sticks. He wrapped his hands on the cool railing, pressed forward for the salty breeze to glide across his face, through his snow white hair. He thought he may be shaking a bit, his body so thin and frail in his age. Just turned a hundred last year, in August. Anna had gathered the whole family, his children (though Ben was ailing) their children and a few of his grandchildren had sons and daughters of their own. Sometimes it was hard for him to believe he was…old. His children were old, and Dean was gone.

How eerie it was to be on the sea again, to be hovering in the same spot he had been over eighty years ago. The waves were the same, the smell of the sea, the feel of the sun coming down warm on his pale skin.

Footsteps approached and Anna leaned next to him, her hair blowing in the breeze like the flames on a beacon. Her eyes were blue too, as blue as his, as blue as the ocean. She let out a sigh and licked her lips. “I had no idea,” she said.

“No idea what?”

“This is how you guys came over here.”

Castiel’s jaw tightens a bit. “We didn’t care to discuss it.”

“Why not?”

“You ever wade through a mass of dead bodies?” That was more of a Dean answer, the way he’d snap about it whenever Castiel would bring it up. It was Dean who had forbidden discussion about their little trip. The fact that had nightmares (not that he would exactly admit it to anyone, not even his brother Sam), that he didn’t care for the ocean anymore or cold weather.

Anna reached over to thread her fingers through Castiel’s hair and then moves to give him a hug, tight and warm. She’s his whole world now, her and the dog. The kids were too far away, all with families of their own, though each of them called at least once a week.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” she asked, pulling back from him. “You don’t have to, we can just go back home.”

He grinned and shook his head. “No. I want to.” Why shouldn’t his granddaughter, why shouldn’t everyone, know? He turned back to the ocean and pictured icebergs on the horizon, glinting orange and yellow with the high sun.

Anna rolled Castiel back to lab where Nick sat and the other researchers pretended to look busy. Meg fiddled with a tape recorder. Castiel watched the monitors as tiny cameras probed the wreckage of the ship. One going down the broken stairwell, one gazing over the debris floor. His stomach twisted.

They didn’t talk about it, but Castiel remembered ever detail. He may misplace things, he may forget who called yesterday, or which one of his sons has the bad knee (he thought it was Ben, but it could be Bobby-John, he’d been a football star in high school). But he remembered that ship, everything that happened on it.

He couldn’t take his eyes away, like watching a train wreck, or people falling overboard. The submersible goes over the bulk head, the sand below like miles of untouched desert.

“Mr. Winchester?” Nick said, pulling Castiel from his memories.

“Yes?” He cleared his throat.

He shifted on his chair and Anna rubbed Castiel’s back. Nick flipped the buttons on the tape recorder. “You were going to explain…or tell us…”

Castiel rubbed his eyes. “Yes. Yes of course.”

He’d rehearsed this as a narration in his head practically his whole life. When Dean wouldn’t let him talk about it, when he caught Dean sketching a ship sinking, their hands clutched desperately at a railing. Freezing water, the sight of a dead mother clutching to her frozen baby.

Nick leaned forward, clicking on a tape recorder.

Neither Castiel, nor Dean, ever forgot the chill of ice against their skin.

~

Castiel preferred the country house, at least there he had places to duck, to grab a book and spend hours curled in a contained space to himself. Places to be away from Crowley and his leering. From the soft touches and requests.

“Castiel, stop fidgeting,” his mother, Eve, ordered, reaching across the car to tug the hem of his dress. He looked away from the window to her. Her steel-colored gaze, boring into him. Her jaw clicked, her toes tapped against the side-door. “We’ll be there soon.”

He sighed, leaning back to view the scenery, Hampton bustling, passing by. Everyone else got to have the life that they wanted. Everyone, every damn person in this city, the country, could do as they pleased. Wear what they wanted to wear, do whatever they wanted. They didn’t have to wear a dress, they didn’t have to wear makeup.

“Oh, don’t give me that look,” she sighed, adjusting the hat that matched her dress. Blue, like her eyes, like his. “It’s not even that bad. Look at what he’s doing for us. This car, this trip. We get to go back home.”

And all Castiel had to do was pretend to be a woman for the rest of his life. He scratched at his knee where the stocking caught on a scab.

“Sure.”

Home. A house up on the hill overlooking the ocean that they hadn’t set foot in in five years since his father died and the funds shriveled up and they had to go back to England where the family estate originated.

Eve leaned forward and pressed her hand to Castiel’s knee. Her eyes watered and she spoke quietly, almost a whisper that Castiel couldn’t hear over the sound of the car slowing and the people outside. “I wouldn’t be asking you…you don’t know how much you’re helping us. It won’t be so bad, you’ll see.” She reached to touch his chin.

He smiled for her, but he wore it like the cufflinks he wasn’t allowed. Shining, but just for show.

The car stopped, horns honked. Castiel took a deep breath and grabbed his hat.

The door opened and sunlight broke through over his mother. She shined like an angel, her jet-black hair gleaming like onyx, pulled high and back, pinned tight. Only a few curls fell around to frame her face.

“Eve, a vision as always,” Crowley said, helping her out.

“Oh my God, it’s fabulous! Castiel, hurry up and get here.”

He stuck on his hat and stepped out. Smoke everywhere, people dragging their luggage, chasing after their children. Eve slipped her hand around Castiel’s arm. “Honey, look.” She pointed at the ship, and my God was right.

The ship wasn’t a ship, it was a building. A mile long, at least, the funnels pumping out black smoke and touching the sky. He wanted to fall back on his mother, but Crowley stood next to him, discreetly putting an arm around his waist to cup at his hip. “Isn’t it amazing? You’ll love the accommodations, darling.” His deep, accented voice, crawled down his spine and into his gut. If he weren’t standing in awe, he’d throw up.

The state room was just as busy as outside. Servants bringing in their luggage, everything that Eve and Castiel had left to their name. Most of Crowley’s things had gone below deck in boxes and bins. All ready for the gutted-out house that they would be moving to. Eve directed the maid, Rachel, to what was going where, whose room belonged to who. All Castiel carried about was his paintings.

“I can’t believe you bought those silly things,” Crowley laughed, while pouring himself a drink. He stood over Castiel’s shoulder as Castiel propped up a canvas with a ballerina paused mid-pose.

“I like them,” Castiel mumbled. It was the only thing he owned that made him smile or feel anything anymore.

“Well,” Crowley said, moving close, almost touching. “If it makes you happy, darling.” He inhaled the scent of Castiel’s hair before moving on to chase someone about his safe.

Eve fluttered in, her hat removed, the servants still milling around them like bees. “This is, oh honey, this is lovelier than the house!” She rubbed her hands together and moved to touch the furnishings above the gold plated fireplace. “Oh, Castiel, these things again?” she gestured to the paintings. She kept on, like a hummingbird.

It pleased Castiel, seeing his mother so happy, he hadn’t seen her with so much as a smile since the movers had taken away the fine furniture from the home in Massachusetts. But every time Crowley circled around, Castiel fought with himself to not jump off the ship.

He tilted his head at the notion. Jumping off the ship. That would solve everything. Surely, Crowley would take care of Eve, and Castiel would be free. The constraints broken, he could finally fly like he wanted. Drive on his own, run down a dirt road without socks or shoes.

“Castiel,” Eve called. “Castiel, come back in here, you don’t want to miss the ship parting do you?”

“They say it’s good luck,” Crowley chimed in, standing behind Eve.

“Sure.”

They all walked to the deck, Castiel holding up the edges of the dress so he didn’t trip in those stupid heeled shoes. Everyone believed it, that he was a girl. He was thin and lithe, with large eyes and long eyelashes. He’d been told the better half of his life by relatives and his own mother that he had delicate features, soft and feminine.

“Wave, darling,” Crowley instructed, standing close to him and holding his waist, bunching the silky material.

Castiel waved, reaching out his arm, poised, the same manner that Eve waved.

“Smooth sailing from here.” Crowley placed a soft kiss on Castiel’s neck.

~

The dresses were tight. As thin as he was, Rachel still fitted Castiel with a corset, giving him the slight shape of a feminine waist. “I hate this,” he grumbled as he slipped the material over his head. Eve had ordered Rachel to seam and hem a fake and small bosom to go under the corset. He had to tape his gentiles to his leg and the corset smoothed it over.

“Yes,” Rachel agreed, grabbing a thin shawl. “You look best in blue.”

Castiel sighed. “I know.” Rachel wasn’t any help. She did as she was told, prettied up Castiel the best she could, to Eve’s cold standards.

“Your hair will be grown out soon enough,” Rachel mused, touching the curl at the nape of his neck. This scheme had been in action for just over a year and Castiel’s hair had become shaggy, in his eyes and over his ears. But there were barrettes and pins, hats to match dresses.

“Sure.”

“You look lovely.” Rachel smiled.

He wanted to throw up.

The door opened and Crowley entered. Rachel did a tiny bow before she flittered out the side door. “A vision, as always.” He touched Castiel on the cheeks. “Shall we?” he offered his arm and Castiel took it.

At dinner, he stared at his plate, pushing around the food, pretending he didn’t hear everyone around him. Eve going on about invitations, the other woman giggling. The men at the table discussed the weather and the speed of the ship.

“Such an interesting haircut,” one of the women said, drawing Castiel out of his trance. He’d counted twelve peas still on his plate. “Why so short?”

Castiel swallowed. “It got caught in a combine,” he lied. “Almost took my scalp too.”

The woman gasped and Eve glared at him. “Don’t mind her,” Eve said. “There was an incident with a candied apple,” she laughed like she was remembering the non-existent incident. “Castiel’s younger cousin. She was dreadfully upset.”

“Yes,” Castiel agreed, stabbing at his peas.

Men in suits walked by and stopped to speak to Crowley. “Mr. Andrews,” Crowley beamed. “This is my fiancé, Castiel.”

“Castiel?” Mr. Andrews bent to take Castiel’s hand to kiss the back of his knuckles. “Such a beautiful name.

“Isn’t it?” Eve agreed. The men went on, the women went back to squawking. “The venue is just perfect,” Eve gushed. “We can’t wait.”

Castiel pushed away from the table, almost knocking over his glass and plates. “Excuse me.”

“Castiel,” Eve called. But he was gone.

He couldn’t take it anymore. The smiles, the stuffy rooms. So, he ran.

Down the deck as fast as he could, the cool hair hitting his face and stinging. He cried but no one paid him any mind. He was just some crazy lady. The ocean called for him, the waves, the propellers whirling. 

The idea struck him softly this time. A slow realization of waking up from a dream. He was going to throw himself off the back of the boat. He let the silk shawl from his fingers and in the wind, watching it disappear to the waves. The thought of falling, almost flying made his heart ache and he didn’t even hesitate to grab onto the flag pole and lift himself over the railing to stand on the very edge of the bars, his stupid high heels causing him to wobble.

The ship seemed to move so fast and the air caught in his lungs.

“Don’t do it,” a voice called behind him.

Castiel already had a foot off the railing. “Go away,” he breathed.

“Please,” the voice continued. “Come on, miss, you don’t wanna go out like this.”

Castiel gripped the railing tighter. “Please,” he whispered, a tear rolling down his cheek.

The stranger moved closer. He smelled smoke on the wind. A hand brushed his shoulder. “It’ll hurt,” the man said. “And you’re real pretty.”

Castiel jerked around, flared with anger. The man who stood near him wore brown, and tattered clothes, tan pants held up with suspenders. Dark hair, luminous green eyes, a cheeky grin. A cigarette hung from his lips.

“What do you know?” Castiel snapped. “Now go away. You’re bothering me.”

The guy chuckled. “You woulda done it buy now.” He tossed the smoke. “Come on, miss, don’t do it. I’m not a great swimmer and I’d have to go get you.”

“Why are you on a boat if you can’t swim?”

He chuckled again. “Just trying to make it home. Please?” he offered his hand. Castiel looked from the hand to his face. Gorgeous. Castiel felt himself blushing, but he accepted. “Atta girl. I’m Dean Winchester.”

“Castiel Milton.”

“Never heard that one.”

“Most people haven’t.”

Dean grinned. “Suits you.” He started to pull on Castiel’s hand. “Come on.”

As Castiel stepped up the railing, his foot tangled with a piece of the dress and he slipped. For a split second he was sure that he’d plummet to the cold water, but Dean had his hand was almost completely leaning over the railing himself.

“I gotcha,” Dean promised.

Castiel felt like he was being dragged. He’d be willing to let go; he looked down at the black water. “You gotta help me, Cas,” Dean said, trying to pull back. “Remember, I can’t really swim. Now pull yourself up.”

Castiel nodded and started to hoist himself up the bars, still slipping on a bit of gauzy material. If he weren’t in this stupid dress, he would have been okay, would have been able to climb back over without trouble. But then again, if he wasn’t in a dress, he probably wouldn’t hate his life so much.

Dean pulled and hauled the best he could and Castiel crawled over the railing, collapsing against the flag pole, taking deep breaths.

“There,” Dean said, still with a smile. “Wasn’t so hard.”

Castiel grinned a bit, his cheeks red, his eyes watered. Dean reached forward to brush away the tears with his thumbs.

“What the hell is going on here?” Crowley’s voice bellowed over the sound of the wind and the engines. He grabbed Dean by the shoulder to twirl him around.

“No,” Castiel piped up. Dean was poised to be punched in the face. “Crowley, don’t.”

“This bastard—”

“No,” he repeated, standing between Dean and Crowley. “No, darling, Mr. Winchester here was just helping me.”

Crowley scoffed. “With what?”

“I slipped,” he breathed. “I was looking over and I slipped and Mr. Winchester pulled me back over. I’m very lucky.” His heart jumped in his throat and his mouth trembled. He reached out to fold the lapel of Crowley’s evening jacket, then touched his cheeks. “He saved my life.”

Crowley’s face softened and he looked from Dean to Castiel, then back to Dean. “Well,” he began, running his hands down Castiel’s cold shoulders. “I apologize, Mr. Winchester. You understand how I could get the wrong impression. Castiel is very fragile.” He tucked a loose curl behind Castiel’s ear.

“Not a problem,” Dean answered.

“Alistair,” Crowley called.

Out of the shadows walked Crowley’s valet. Castiel had always been afraid and unnerved by Alistair. He was big and domineering, always a crooked kind of sick grin, a deep and commanding voice. “I think….thirty should cover it?”

“Money?” Castiel forced a fluttering laugh. “Don’t you think that’s a bit…tacky?”

“Tacky?” Crowley chuckled. “My dear, what would you…oh I see…yes.” He grinned. “Mr. Winchester, please, join us at dinner tomorrow. I’m sure Castiel’s mother would love to meet the man that saved her daughter.”

Dean stuffed his hands in his pockets. “It would be an honor.”

“Lovely.” Crowley put a coat over Castiel’s shoulders. “Come dear, you should probably rest.” He jerked his head to Dean and Alistair still gave him the money.

Castiel shot a glance over his shoulder at Dean as he was being led away. Dean winked at him as he let up a cigarette. Crowley held onto Castiel’s arm so tightly that he knew it would be bruised in the morning.


	3. Chapter 3

The ship moved so quietly and smoothly, that Castiel didn’t believe they were really moving. He lay in bed, staring out the window, watching the black sky dotted with stars like diamonds. The ship groaned a bit, sometimes Castiel heard some children run by his room. They were chased by a maid trying to yell a whisper.

He ran his legs back and forth under the sheets, revering in the freedom. No corsets in bed, no lace or stockings. No fake bosom, his gentiles hung free against his leg. He still had to wear a long, white nightgown, and a see-through, black robe hung on the bedpost, just in case. The window was open a crack, just letting in the salty breeze, cold nipping at the very tip of his nose, his lips. He thought about the water, cold, deep, how he almost stepped off the back of the ship, and how terrified he was when he actually slipped and he thought he was going to die. Of Dean Winchester, his warm hand and his green eyes. He looked like he cared.

The door to the other room opened a crack and Castiel immediately shut his eyes and evened out his breathing, feigning sleep.

“Darling?” Crowley whispered.

Castiel said nothing. He counted and tried his best to keep his breath calm. At the country house, sometimes Crowley requested Castiel’s presence in the bedroom. His rough hands traced over Castiel’s thin hips.

After a few minutes, Crowley took a deep breath and exited, closing the door. Castiel let out his drawn breath and rolled to his side, away from the window.

~

“Stop it,” Eve ordered, lightly tapping Castiel against his shin under the table. He kept picking and pulling at his dress, the fabric catching in the corset, the stockings itching against the hair on his knees.

He glared and sipped his tea.

Eve spoke with some women at the table. A countess, a dress-maker. She went on about the wedding and Castiel munched on a cookie, tart and moist. Eve had said nothing about Castiel’s ‘accident’ (as Crowley started to refer to it). She had smiled tight-mouthed and her left eyelid twitched as she reached out to touch the sides of Castiel’s face before sending him to bed.

“Isn’t that right, Castiel?” Eve said, another tight-lipped smile. He was meant to answer.

“Yes,” he said. He put down his cup and stood. “Excuse me.”

“Castiel,” Eve called. “Where are you going?”

“I need air.”

Outside, the sun was bright in his face, the breeze pleasant on what skin was exposed. He wanted to rip off the entire dress. Down the deck, he saw some third class children running about and a steward and mother chasing after them, trying to keep them on their part of the ship.

Castiel walked, determined, towards the third class deck. No one stopped him as he passed the gate, though they looked at him oddly, a first glass girl in a green dress and matching shoes.

“Miss, are you lost?” A steward asked.

“No.”

Across a mass of people, he caught Dean sitting on a bench with a cigarette hanging loose from his lips. He chatted with a blond fellow, but stopped dead in his conversation when his gaze caught Castiel’s. He left his friend and walked across the deck.

“Mr. Winchester,” Castiel said, taking a breath.

“Miss Milton.” He grinned.

“May I speak with you a bit? I didn’t mean to interrupt your conversation.”

Dean shrugged. “Don’t worry about him. Shall we?” he gestured in front of them. They started walking. “You’re looking well.”

“Thank you.” He pulled at a pin in his hair. “I…I wanted to thank you again.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“No, really. I don’t know what I was thinking and…I was lucky to have you there.”

Dean chuckled a bit, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He carried a leather bound folder under his left arm. “Guess we’re both lucky I don’t sleep well, darling.”

“Why?”

“Why can’t I sleep?”

“Yes.”

He lit up a second cigarette. He offered Castiel one, but Castiel declined, foreseeing his mother’s indignant eye roll and pursed lips at the smell of smoke on his dress and in his hair. “Never really slept well. Not since I was a kid. Had to keep an eye out for my brother. He’s the one who really has sleeping problems.”

Castiel glanced around. “Is he with you?”

“Naw. He’s back home.”

And that’s how Castiel learned about the live and trials of Dean Winchester. Mother died in a fire, had to mostly raise his baby brother alone. Dad not really in the picture. “So why were you in England?” Castiel asked.

They had walked around the ship three times, occasionally getting dumbfounded looks from of the first class passengers, but people were silent.

“Making my way in the world. Or trying. But Dad’s gone now, and Sam has the house which is falling apart. Could never stand to be very far from him.”

Castiel ducked his head. “I’m sure that he misses you.” He could imagine not wanting to be far from Dean.

“Hope so,” Dean said. “Been ready to go home for a while.”

They walked by some dock chairs. People sat chatting, one older gentleman lay there napping, a woman tried to soothe her fussy baby with a soft voice and kind words about the ocean. “Look, darling, look at the ocean.”

“Well, Cas.” Dean cleared his throat. “Don’t think I could possibly tell you anymore about myself and we’ve walked about two miles around this ship. Was there something specific that you wanted?”

Dean stopped and Castiel stopped. The sun backlit his body, he seemed to glow. Taller than him, thin, but lean. “I…I wanted to thank you.” Castiel cleared his throat. “And, I’m sorry for putting you in that situation, to lie.” Not many people could convincingly lie to Crowley. Castiel wasn’t very good at it, he was normally caught and Crowley always shook his head in amusement.

Dean laughed. “Sweetheart, you didn’t put me into any position. I was happy to help.”

He smiled kindly, but Castiel’s gut twisted and dipped. “I know what you must be thinking,” he started. “What could I possibly know about being sad.” Everyone he’d met so far, since being passed off as a woman, didn’t understand why he wasn’t excited about the upcoming wedding. Why he shuddered each time Crowley touched him, why he was so quiet. He was lucky, they always told him. It was a good match.

“Not at all.” Dean shook his head. “I’m thinking, why didn’t you think there was no other way out?”

It’d be so simple, to state the real reason. He wanted to. “Everything,” he answered. “Getting married, the attention, but…no one really sees me. Notices me.”

“Then why are you doing it?” Dean asked.

“Excuse me?”

“Getting married. You got a gun pointed to your head or something?”

Castiel became instantly enraged. “Of course not. Wedding planning is just…tiring.”

“But you want to be noticed.”

He glared. “I had no idea you were this intrusive.”

Dean barked out a laugh. “Intrusive? Darling, you came and found me.”

“Stop calling me that,” he snapped. Dean kept grinning. The breeze ruffled his hair. He held tight to the folder in his hand. Castiel reached forward and snatched it. “Why do you carry this around?” He began flipping through the pages, expecting copies of great work or mindless doodles of sticks and animals, but instead, he found life art. He moved to sit down on a deckchair; Dean followed.

“These are actually…really good.”

“Thanks.”

A mother breastfeeding her child, a father and daughter huddled together as he pointed to something in the distance. A naked woman, and then another. “These are drawn from real life?”

“Yeah,” Dean admitted, scratching the back of his neck.

They were all beautiful. Long hair and dreamy eyes. Thin hands, curved waists and endless legs. Castiel kept flipping through the sheets. Then there was a naked man, on his back, his hand on his stomach. He was looking away, towards the wall. Dean used him several other times in the collection. “Men?” Something trembled in his throat and hands.

Dean shrugged. “A few.”

Castiel closed the folder. “They’re all wonderful. Stunning.”

“Thank you.”

“I wished I could see like this,” he went on. “Really see inside people.”

“You do,” Dean assured. “You wouldn’t have sought me out if you didn’t. You’re not like other first class girls.”

“No,” Castiel answered while turning over some pages, though not really paying attention. “I’m not.”

They spent hours walking around. Dean told Castiel of his travels, all over Europe, his home in America, his little brother Sam. They house Sam (and technically Dean) inherited from their father was meant to be a boarding house and Sam was fixing it up. He kept asking Castiel questions, really mundane questions. Like his birthday (August 20), his favorite color (green), did he have any brothers or sisters (no), how did he meet Crowley?

The sun was setting and Dean and Castiel stood against the railing. “I’ve never been on a roller coaster,” Castiel said.

“No?”

He shook his head. “I’ve never really done anything or been anywhere.”

“Let’s change that then,” Dean said. “I’ll take you to an amusement park. We’ll get on the Ferris wheel, drink cheap beer, then go swimming while the sun sets.”

Castiel laughed. “Why not?”

It was easy to talk to Dean, like they knew each other for years. “Can’t wear a fancy get-up like this.” He gestured. “Don’t get me wrong, you look great.” Castiel flushed. “But you’ll have to wear pants or something.”

“Alright.”

Coming towards them, Castiel spotted his mother walking with two other women. The Countess again, and a lovely woman named Molly Brown.

“So,” Eve said as they approached. She eyed Dean. “This is where you’ve been all afternoon.”

Castiel swallowed. “Mother, this is Dean Winchester, he’s the one who assisted me the other night.”

Dean nodded with a smile and reached to shake her hand, but Eve didn’t budge. “Charmed,” she said.

“Well, I’m pleased to meet you,” said Molly, accepting Dean’s hand. “I’ve grown quite found of Castiel. Sure glad she had you around.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Dean will be joining us for dinner,” Castiel explained to the countess. She and Molly seemed genuinely interested in Dean. He mentioned where he was from (apparently not too far from Molly’s relations), his art. Eve just stared.

At exactly six, the trumpets sounded, announcing dinner. “Mother,” Castiel said. “Shall we go dress for dinner?”

“Yes,” she answered, still with a tight lipped smile. She started to walk away.

“See you at dinner,” Castiel said to Dean before following his mother.


End file.
